


Playing House

by WildwingSuz



Category: The X-Files
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-07
Updated: 2015-05-07
Packaged: 2018-03-29 12:39:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,662
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3896638
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WildwingSuz/pseuds/WildwingSuz
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They wake up together after a blackout night of drinking to several shocking discoveries, not the least of which is that they are now married.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Playing House

**Author's Note:**

> Author's Notes: My version with a twist on an oft-done theme. Couldn't resist after watching “What Happens In Vegas”...
> 
> Spoilers: Small one for Wetwired. Right around early Season 7.

Playing House  
By Suzanne L. Feld  
Rated PG-13 for adult situations

 

It's not a very big house, and I'm sure we'll have to find a bigger one before we empty our apartments. I know that just Scully's furniture would fill up this place never mind mine; nothing more than her bed takes up at least a third of that small bedroom. 

If you had told me six weeks ago that I would not only be married to my partner but had lived with her for a trial period for over a month and that we were just about ready to legally consummate our marriage I'd have told you to put that straitjacket back on. But that's really the situation as it stands and now we're on our way over to her mother's house to announce all this to her—all but the consummation, that is. That I think we'll keep to ourselves.

I look over at Scully and can't help grinning. She insisted on driving and by the way her knuckles are white on the steering wheel I can tell she's nervous, but I'm so fucking thrilled with this whole thing that I'm not. Despite my breezy assurances to her from the morning we woke up wed, I really hadn't been sure we'd make it and I'm euphoric to be where I am right this moment even if her mom kills me. At least I'll die happy.

I tell her the last part, omitting the bit where I hadn't been sure. She doesn't need to know that or I'd never hear the end of it after the confident front I've put on over the last weeks.

“She'll kill me first, Mulder.”

“I'll run interference. She's shorter than me. And you for that matter if I remember correctly.”

“You haven't had to deal with a really furious Scully woman before, Mulder. I'm small potatoes compared to my mom—don't let her dark hair fool you. She'll be mad that she won't get to see me walk down the aisle or have that big wedding she always dreamed of.”

I shrugged. “So what's to say she won't? We could still do that if you want.”

The car swerved so hard to the right that I nearly fell over on her, seatbelt and all. She squealed to a stop in the driveway of a closed tire store, threw the car into park, and turned to face me. “Do you mean that, Mulder?” Her face was closed and still, eyes wary, and I knew that expression: afraid to get her hopes up. I'd seen it a lot the past few weeks.

“Of course I do. Why not? If it would make you and your mom happy I'd be glad to go through all the rigmarole. In fact if it would help we could omit the fact that we're already married. Let her think we're actually doing things the right way for once.”

She reached over and took my hand, a smile growing on her face. “That would mean the world to her,” she said softly. “She never held out any hope that Missy would have a regular church wedding so she pinned all her hopes on me; the boys didn't count. You sure you wouldn't mind, Mulder?”

“I'd rather not have to convert to Catholicism but I'd even do that, Scully,” I told her, covering her hand with mine and leaning over for a brief but warm kiss. We still didn't kiss often so I grabbed every chance I got. “You just point me in the right direction and I'll be there.”

“Conversion isn't required anymore,” she assured me, her smile so wide that I saw that rare dimple peeking out. “For now, let's just tell her that we haven't made any hard and fast plans, just that we'll get married in the church.”

I was even more elated that I was able to do this for her, and as she pulled back out into traffic I once again thought that this certainly wasn't the way I'd seen this scenario playing out that day we'd woke up in that Utah hotel with blank memories and a ring on her finger...

***

“You've got to be kidding me,” I groaned, rolling over to see that the dash of spiky dark hair on the other pillow was really still there. “I knew going out for drinks with you would be a bad, bad mistake.”

This was my third time waking up so it was no new situation to me; at least I wasn't still vomiting even though my head spun just as badly as I turned to face him. I rarely had more than a glass or two of wine so at least a bottle or more of champagne had hit me likes a freight train. And Mulder didn't look to be in much better shape.

“Please tell me you doctor-types have some kind of instant remedy for severe hangovers,” he mumbled, rolling onto his back and throwing an arm over his eyes. I had to look away from the expanse of broad shoulders and lightly furred chest; it was just too much all at once no matter how nice the view was. “And to bring back the memory of last night that I really wish I could remember more of.”

Oh, hell, we were in real trouble when Mr. Eidetic Memory can't recall an evening. “The best thing for it is just a little more light alcohol, like wine or something, but I'm not up to that,” I moaned. “And drink a lot of water, which I've been doing when I'm awake enough to function. What did we do last night, Mulder? I don't remember a damn thing after we left the hotel bar.”

We were in Provo, Utah, on a case, I remembered. Chasing a serial killer who went after suspected polygamist families and we hadn't found the last child's body before the bastard shot himself as we moved in—and now we probably never would. Mulder had been damned upset over that, and that was how we'd managed to find ourselves here. For once the Bureau had sprung for a halfway decent motel which had a bar in the lobby and an instant wedding chapel in the--

I froze for a moment; mind, heart, body, soul. One teensy memory came trickling back and I raised both hands to gaze almost fearfully at them. Sure enough, the third finger of my left hand wore a thin silver ring.

“Mud. . . Mulder. Look at your hand.” Please tell me that wasn't my voice quavering like that. Sinking back into the pillows, I wanted to close my eyes and cry. But big bad FBI agents didn't cry in situations like this, they handled them like the professionals they were. No matter how hung-over.

I forced myself to watch as he lifted his hands and felt a sweeping relief when I saw them bare. Maybe we'd only--

He rolled to one side, digging underneath himself for something, and came up holding a badly wrinkled piece of paper, squinting and bringing it close to his face and groaning before handing it to me. I didn't even have to see it, though I took it from him. I was remembering just enough; I knew what it was.

A marriage license.

***

I'm sure Maggie took it a lot better than she would have if we'd presented her with a fait accompli, but I'm not sure that's not saying much. She shrieked and hugged us both, yelling that it was about time, danced Scully round the room, grabbed me by the ears and dragged me down to her level then kissed me smack on the mouth before running for the phone. 

Still standing in the front hall I grinned down at my wife. “I think she approves,” I said, following as she moved towards the living room. I had a sudden flash of Scully standing in the archway with her Sig pointed at me, her mother standing between us and pleading with her to believe that we wouldn't hurt her. That had been just a few years ago but what different people we were now. 

Wife. I had automatically thought 'wife' in regards to Scully. Hot damn.

***

I don't believe this. He is arguing with me about this.

“Mulder, you can't be serious. We need to get this not-really-a-marriage annulled, or a divorce, or whatever we have to do to dissolve it.”

“Well we can't get it annulled, I'm pretty sure we consummated it last night,” he says, running one hand through his already-spiky hair. “I don't remember much but I do remember some of that.”

I did too, although I didn't want to admit it. “If we don't tell--”

“I won't lie.” He says flatly, glaring across the room at me. “Besides, what's so damn bad about us being married? Don't you think--”

“Are you kidding?!” I screech at him, much louder than I intended, and can't blame him for the wince of pain. Lowering my voice I add, “Mulder, honestly, think about it. How long do you think we could keep it hidden? You know someone would find out, and they'd separate us.”

“So? Maybe some things are more important than the X-Files.”

I stared at him speechless, nonplussed for one of the few times in my life. Did I hear him right?

“You did, so don't stand there staring at me thunderstruck. After all we've lost in our pursuit of the truth are you really all that surprised that I've perhaps had enough? That I could be ready to kick back and settle down—at least a little bit?”

“Who in the hell are you and what have you done with my partner?”

“Husband,” he smirks, and I damn near throw something at him. Even after a night of drunken revelry he's far too damn handsome, standing there wearing only a pair of grey sweatpants—which is more than he woke up wearing, I can't help but think and remember. Hoo boy, do I ever remember seeing him flip the covers back and swing himself out of the bed buck-ass naked just a short time ago. I wish I could remove that image from my memory, but it's fully burned in now. 

I was now wrapped in a thick white terrycloth robe after my shower, which had put paid to most of the headache but not the heartache. When we'd awakened I had been least was wearing what was left of my work suit I'd gone out in, my bra and white blouse—although both were the worse for wear and I had all sorts of crazy marks around my upper torso from the bra being above my breasts rather than below them. Apparently a pair of drunken FBI agents can't figure out how to unsnap a bra in the heat of passion.

***

Back “home” later that night, we cuddled up on the couch together as we've been doing just about every night we're here. Interestingly enough we don't seem to take as many out of town cases now; for once I'm not finding as many fascinating things as I used to. Well, actually, I am, I just don't feel the need to go dashing off halfway across the country at every report of colored lights in the sky or other odd phenomena and ditching her to do so is the farthest thing from my mind these days. For the first time in my adult life I have a home, a real home, a place to go that's something more than where I hang my suits and can make a mess in the bathroom. God help me if I do the latter these days, anyway.

This house isn't ours and we couldn't keep it even if it was; it's a post-WWII tract house and it doesn't have anywhere near enough room for us and all our stuff. We need at least two more rooms or perhaps a finished basement or attic for our offices, and we've agreed that we must have a laundry room—no more going to the Laundromat for us. That part of this house did spoil us.

Fox Mulder, domesticated. I like it. It wasn't easy at first for either of us, perhaps a bit more for Scully despite how hard I tried. Or maybe because of it. I think once I relaxed and went back to being myself rather than trying to be the abnormally perfect husband things got a lot better between us.

***

“He has what? A house? Byers? How and why?” 

“Apparently he keeps it as his legal residence, although he hasn't lived there in ten years. He said we're welcome to stay there as long as we'd like.”

I rubbed my forehead where a headache was starting. How had I let him talk me into this? But I had promised... in a moment of rare weakness... how did I get myself into things like this?!

“When can we go look at it?”

“I've got the keys. Want me to come pick you up?”

“No, just give me the address.”

Fifteen minutes later I spotted Mulder's Taurus parked in front of a small brick bungalow. At least it had a fireplace, I noted, even if it was the size of a hobbit burrow. And identical to every other house on the street, clearly a rush-built bedroom community for the big post-WWII D.C. job rush. 

As I started up the walk he appeared in the doorway, smiling at me. “It's got a fireplace, and a laundry room, it's closer to work for both of us, and comes fully furnished,” he said in a rush before I was even halfway there. “Should I carry you over the threshold?”

“You try to carry me anywhere and you'll be drawing back a stump,” I snarled as I went inside with him following. 

The good news was that it had clearly been redecorated sometime in the near past; I'd been afraid of 1970s avocado appliances, orange shag carpeting, and dark wood paneling. However it looked like your basic rental house: white walls, tan carpet, inexpensive but nice enough furniture and impersonal art on the walls. The bad news was that it really was smaller than a hobbit burrow: living room, kitchen, bathroom, one bedroom, and three closets, none of which were walk-ins. Each room was a decent size, but there weren't enough of them. 

“So, what do you think?”

“I think we may kill each other locked up together in here,” I said, glancing up at him. The man is no poker player, that's for sure; the look of crushed disappointment on his face was almost comical if I didn't know he meant it. “Come on, Mulder, I've seen jail cells bigger than this house. This is barely large enough for one person, never mind two who are used to living alone. And for an entire month?”

“But isn't that the point of this little exercise we've agreed on? To find out if we can live together? This'll tell us in a very short time,” he pointed out. 

He did have a point there. Perhaps I could get this crazy experiment over even quicker and get back to my comfortable life. I went back into the bedroom and raised an eyebrow at the full-sized bed there. “We replace this with my queen bed,” I said. 

His grin made me rethink my agreement, but it was too late now.

***

Coming home at the end of a long day used to be dreaded, and weekends were my own personal hell on earth for many years. Had I known that Scully was the cure for that I'd have nailed her down a lot sooner. Now I bolt out of the office right at six and don't go back until the next morning—and I'm never there at five am anymore. 

Although earlier today we'd agreed that tonight would be the night we finally had a consummation that we remembered, on the way home from her mom's we'd discussed waiting until after the church wedding. What the hell, if we were going to do this right we'd go all the way and have a real wedding night and honeymoon. It had been almost a month since Utah and we'd managed thus far; Scully had flat-out told her mother that we'd wait no more than two weeks to get married in the church. She was welcome to arrange it, but if she couldn't do it that fast then the deal was off.

Maggie had been on the house phone with their priest and her cell phone with a local reception hall before we'd left. Scully hadn't been kidding.

So that night we crawled into bed as we had for the last month or so, she in pajamas and me in sweats. I turned on the TV that was on the dresser at the foot of the bed and she stuffed a half-dozen pillows behind her and settled down to read. As we'd begun doing without even thinking about it, our shoulders brushed against each other and our feet ended up tangled together at the foot of the bed. Well, her feet and my calves, at any rate, unless I bent my knees.

I usually dozed off watching TV and woke either in the morning or, sometimes, in the middle of the night curled up with her. She'd get up and turn off the TV and lights and never complained, likely because she knew how much trouble I had going to sleep. But that, too, was a thing of the past.

***

That first night I almost couldn't believe I was going to share a bed with my partner although we had agreed that it would be part of the deal. If we couldn't share a bed platonically then this whole exercise was for nothing and we both knew it. 

That whole first day was unreal, come to think of it. We'd moved my bed and our things in Saturday and we met at the house Sunday evening. Though Monday morning officially started our four-week trial of living together, we both had so much to do that we spent Sunday evening there unpacking and settling in. We ordered pizza and went over the next day's case files sitting at the kitchen table (there was no dining room) and until we headed for the bedroom it was almost like any other evening.

But it wasn't long before our friendship overcame the initial awkwardness of climbing into bed together and we ended up laying on our sides in the dark facing each other, talking about the case, until we dozed off. And woke up with him curled around me the next morning, which I thought would be strange but wasn't.

But then awkward doesn't begin to describe most of that first week. From who cleaned up after dinner to who got in the bathroom first in the morning it was a long learning curve. We had a few squabbles but by the next Monday I was shocked that we hadn't had any real fights and, in fact, seemed to be settling in together pretty well. 

The second week proved me to be far too optimistic.

“You've got to be kidding me, Mulder. I am not going to 7-Eleven for coffee at this time of night! You were supposed to get it when you picked up groceries on the way home.”

“You didn't tell me we needed coffee or I'd have gotten it. Hence, you're responsible and you get to get dressed and go get it.”

“It's on the damn list on the fridge! Right there!”

“Who knew you had a list? You didn't tell me that, either!”

“I didn't think I had to! Christ, you're like a child, having to be led around by the hand!”

“And you're an anal A-type who needs to take a damn chill pill. It's not the end of the world if we don't have coffee in the morning.”

“For you, maybe. I have to have it and always make sure I have enough for the morning. Fine, I'll damn well go get it.”

“No, you're right, it's too dangerous out there this time of night, I'd better go.” Clear rude sarcasm.

“What the hell are you talking about, Mulder?”

“If you're going to act like a helpless woman then I'm going to treat you like a helpless woman!”

And so on. I'm sure Mulder would have slept out on the couch if it hadn't been barely four feet long, and that was the first night that we didn't end up cuddled together in the bed. But when I woke the next morning Mulder rolled over after shutting off the alarm and mumbled groggily, “Sorry about last night, Scully. I was a jerk.”

Did I hear him right? If I had, I could at least meet him halfway. “No, I should have--”

To my shock he leaned over and kissed me, running one hand through my sleep-mussed hair. It was a friendly kiss, like the one from New Year's Eve, not the kind with tongues and groping hands that I vaguely remembered from our first and only time together. “If we were acting as married as we are legally I'd do more to make it up to you, but that'll have to do for now,” he said, grinning crookedly at me as he leaned back. “Take a rain check?”

Jesus, but he did things my heart that I'd rather not have to think about! What could I do but smile back? “Deal.”

***

The day after we told Maggie we told Skinner.

To my shock, he didn't frown or look shocked or angry or upset—in fact just the opposite. His face lit up like a Christmas tree and he came around the desk to shake my hand and give Scully a hug. “Congratulations, agents!” he said, beaming at us. “It's about time. So when is the big day?”

“Uh, Saturday after next,” Scully said, looking as dazed as I felt. “Sir, isn't this going to be a problem? With us working together, I mean.”

“I thought of that long ago, Agent,” he said as he went to sit down again. “I've had a special dispensation ready for years. Nothing changes.”

When we left his office I'm sure we looked as dazed as if we'd just been chewed out, but it was a whole new set of emotions we were dealing with. “Did you have any idea?” I asked as we rode down in the elevator. “I thought he'd kill us!”

“Me too,” she said. “Can you--”

Then the elevator doors slid open and there was Agent Driscoll, one of few who occasionally visited our basement hovel and didn't ostracize us like most of the other agents in the building. He was grinning like a monkey and wrung both of our hands. “Hey, congratulations, and thanks!”

“For what?” I asked as we finally stepped off the elevator.

“For the two hundred bucks, that's what! Trust me, the office pool on you two has grown substantially over the last few years. With your solve rate I knew I couldn't go wrong betting on you two!”

***

Three weeks in I knew my heart was a goner but I wasn't about to let him know that he'd won so easily.

For all that he could be a selfish, rude, meanly sarcastic bastard Mulder also had his sweet, thoughtful, considerate side. The longer we lived together that more the good side came out, especially when he stopped trying so hard that he wasn't even acting like himself. But that only lasted a few days, thank God. 

We spent three days in Baltimore helping track down the last leg of an international child-prostitution ring and this one really got to me, especially when we rescued a four-year-old who, we later found out, was slated to be shipped to Taiwan. The child was unharmed but most certainly wouldn't have stayed that way for long. I sat in the back of a squad car with the blonde, blue-eyed toddler and helped keep her calm until CPS got there, and she'd dozed off in my arms by the time they arrived. It was difficult to strap her warm, sleeping little body into the carseat and watch the CPS van drive off with her, but despite knowing how upset I was Mulder treated me like nothing more than his partner—which was as it should be.

Until we got home, that was.

No sooner were we in the door than he caught me up in a hug, holding me against him with one arm around my shoulders and the other gently cupping the back of my head. “Let it out, Scully, I know how much it bothered you that that kid was the same age as Emily before she died,” he said in a low voice. “Shit, it bothered me and I didn't have half the connection with her that you did.”

I heaved a sigh and leaned into his hard body, wrapping my arms around him in return, but tears were not forthcoming. “I'm too numb to cry right now,” I admitted. “Although I won't be surprised if I have nightmares tonight.”

“Why don't you go soak in a bubble bath and I'll make dinner?” he offered, loosening his arms as I moved back. “I'm not exactly a gourmet chef, but I do make a mean chili and I did buy all the ingredients for it when I went shopping last week.”

I smiled up at him. Though I had resisted his pampering for years, this was different. “It's a deal, as long as it's not as spicy as those chips you were eating the other day,” I said as I crossed the living room towards the bathroom. It wasn't far.

“Aw, you're no fun,” he said, passing me in the miniscule hallway to head into the kitchen as he shed his suit jacket. “Fine, I'll make girlie wuss chili but don't you dare tell anyone.”

When I came out of the bathroom in pajamas and robe I not only found the table set and a Dutch oven simmering on the stovetop but a Scrabble game open on the living room floor and despite it being May and fairly balmy out, a small fire going in the fireplace. “Mulder...”

He poked his head out of the bedroom. “Everything's ready, I'm just changing—don't come in here unless you want to make our marriage as real as it gets,” he winked and grinned before disappearing. He had no idea how tempted I was.

The chili was perfect, albeit served with glasses of milk and saltines which made me feel a little bit like a child again, and afterwards we sat/sprawled on the living room floor for a game of Scrabble. We'd played a few times before and like pretty much everything else we did, we were quite well-matched and Mulder won by a bare three points.

I didn't cry nor have nightmares about Emily or the little girl we'd rescued that night and I knew why. I may never tell him, but I'm sure he knows.

***

Though we had agreed to do a real wedding mostly for Maggie, I could tell Scully was getting into it. She insisted on having only one person stand up with each of us rather than the whole bridesmaid/groomsmen rigmarole, no tuxes or special bridesmaid's dress, and a guest list that didn't come anywhere near three digits. But per her mother's wishes she did agree to get a real wedding dress and have a nice reception at a hall with quite a few more people than were going to be at the actual ceremony. When I made the major mistake of inquiring about cost for all this, I was warned to keep my nose out of it and being an Oxford grad and all, was able to figure out that one on my own.

Luckily that left me little to do other than keep an ear open in case I was needed for something, such as agreeing with the luncheon list or insisting on Frohike for my best man despite what I knew some people might think. My only worry was what he might wear, but Byers privately assured me that he had a decent suit and wouldn't embarrass anyone, to my relief.

The day before the wedding Scully came home from her final dress fitting fuming. “My mother is driving me crazy!” she snapped as she stomped into the house. “I can't imagine why I agreed to this! We should have just told her the truth and not had to go through all this insanity.”

“What is it now?” I asked, turning off the TV with the remote and sitting up. Detroit beating the crap out of my Yankees was nothing compared the red-haired tempest that had just blown through the door.

“She says that I shouldn't stay here tonight, that the bride and groom shouldn't be together the night before the wedding. She wants me to come stay at her house. I don't think so!” She flopped back on the couch next to me, blowing a breath upward that ruffled the front of her hair. “I've gotten used to sleeping next to you and I have no plans to change that, not even for one night.”

I slid my arm around her and tugged her to lean against me. “Good,” I said simply. “Me too.”

She turned to grin up at me. “Go back to your game, I'm done venting. I'm also done with anything wedding-related until tomorrow morning when we have to be at the church at eleven a.m.”

Though we hadn't kissed a lot over the past month, this time I didn't resist the urge to lean over and kiss her. She met me halfway, the first time she'd really kissed me since that night, and the next thing I knew we were sprawled across the far-too-short couch with our arms wrapped around each other and our bodies straining together. “Scully... we'd better stop now or we're going to make our wedding night a double lie,” I managed to say through my haze of arousal. “I know you wanted to wait and--”

“To hell with that,” she breathed. “You stop now and I'll kill you, Mulder. I mean it.”

I mean, what else could I do that that point? 

***

“Fox, you can't--”

“Sorry, Maggie, I have got to talk to Sc—Dana--before the ceremony, alone, right now.”

I turned away from the mirror and sure enough, there was my secret husband striding into the changing room past my mother, Cathy, and Aunt Olive. Although of course my first thought was that he might be changing his mind and about to ask me for that divorce I'd wanted a month ago, one look at his face put that worry to rest. “It's okay—leave us alone,” I said, making shooing motions toward the other women. “Mom—please.”

She gave me a Scully Look of Daggers but followed the other two out. Once the door closed I turned to Mulder and gave him the eyebrow. “You couldn't wait ten minutes?” I huffed, hands on white satin hips.

He was staring at me like he'd never seen me before. “Jesus, Scully, I'm speechless,” he said haltingly. “You look—you look—I don't have words...”

As his voice trailed off I had to smile, because for once in my life I agreed with him. I looked like the quintessential bride in white although I had insisted on a simple, sleeveless satin gown with lace edging and no other frills. My veil was a plain silver tiara with a shoulder-length matching lace drape and there was no train to the dress—I didn't need Mulder tripping over it—and for once I thought I looked as wonderful as I felt. Wonderful despite barely four hours of sleep last night, but that was neither here nor there.

“You'd better find some before we get up there before the priest, Mulder,” I teased, gliding over to him and reaching up to straighten his bow tie with gloved fingers. The one thing I had let my mother talk me into was the elbow-length lace gloves, which was about as girly as I got even at my own wedding. 

Without warning he grabbed one of my hands and dropped to one knee on the floor. “I need to do something before we go out there,” he said up to me in a rush. “I never did actually propose to you—I remembered that last night when everything came back. Dana Scully, will you marry me?”

Now I was speechless. Our unexpected lovemaking last night had been a catalyst for both our memories; we'd talked for hours between bouts about the craziness of our entire relationship. And he was right that he'd never proposed to me. As we'd drunkenly reeled out of the bar in Provo he'd joked that Skinner would have a conniption if we came back from Utah married, I thought it was the funniest thing I'd ever heard and we'd walked right over to the chapel. We'd been given directions to the county courthouse, cabbed over and gotten the license, then back to the hotel chapel and gotten married. Yes, it had been a stupid drunken joke but what happened afterwards wasn't, no more than what we'd done last night had been. 

“Yes,” I finally said softly, forcing myself out of the reverie. “Thank you, Mulder. Or should I call you Fox now?”

The look he gave as he got up me was priceless, and I grinned to show that I wasn't serious. I was just too damned happy to take anything seriously at the moment.

“Dana! Fox! They're starting without you!”

He grinned back at me, putting one arm out. “Shall we?”

“Let's do it, G-man.”

finis


End file.
